Mulcare
by Gray Glube
Summary: They'll always fail the Bechdel test late at night.


**Author:** grayglube

**Title:** Mulcare

**Summary:** They'll always fail the Bechdel test late at night. Zoe/Madison/Kyle

**Rating:** M

**Warnings:** Canon rape triggers, language, violence, sexual situations, femslash, use of toys, threesome

**A/N:** Let's call this smut driven character development and I have this new things of deliberately choosing obscure words as titles, this one is a Latin verb.

* * *

She can pinpoint the moment, exactly to the thought forming and flowering in her brain, when she decided that her life had not changed in a completely disastrous way.

It's at the party.

Walking around in the aftermath because she's left Madison where she'd sat down on the steps to the frat house chain-smoking and shaking to go back to the scene of the crime to find Madison's purse.

There are so many bedrooms and before finding the right one she finds others with more consensual two partnered acts occurring.

A blowjob.

A slow dry hump make-out with tongues.

A girl squirming with a boy's fingers under her dress and inside of her, slicking up a mouthful of tit with surplus saliva.

Her own dress seems so much shorter once the crotch of her scanty underwear (ones she bought for the express purpose of letting Charlie see them and slip his hand inside) gets slippery slick.

She likes to watch and then she remembers Madison, outside. Brought back to reality she finds the clutch and leaves, ready for the safety the school provides.

* * *

Her and Madison have an adjoining bathroom.

She realizes that she's washing off the feel of an unwanted dick inside of her in the same place Madison has. The exception of course is she's the one with the shower head between her legs.

Well, maybe that isn't true.

She feels awful that it feels so good, the moment she climbed off the hospital bed it wafted over her. The high she ignored feeling after she killed Charlie. The high that works like any other high has in her life. Booze, secreted away joints during a slumber party, the way Charlie always felt on top of her. Her pussy is throbs.

The shower drowns out anything else she isn't sure the walls of her room would and she hadn't wanted to slip her fingers around in the cum of that entitled little shit who left something in Madison twisted and broken and found some sort of entertainment in it.

She's on her knees, back bowed and thighs open wide, a hand pressed to the porcelain of the tub and the other sweeping warmth and oscillating pressure over herself.

It's the blood she thinks about, it's the way Charlie was still hard and hot and thrusting up while he keened, while he died, inside of her.

Everything is between her legs, warm and fulfilling and an insistent throb of need, want, kill, want, want, there, need, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill, _there_.

The shower curtain rips back, metal rings clanging and curtain hissing and Madison…

She's reaching and grabs the portion of thigh not covered by cute, girlish sleep short, the muscles tense and Madison, as a whole, flinches while Zoe comes.

They're looking at each other.

The pumping of her orgasm seems to last forever, even after Madison scowls and says 'I can hear you in the other room', has made her exit, and Zoe's shoulders shiver.

She lies down in the tub and raises her arm to let the spray waterfall her face, eyes closed and mouth open.

It takes a long time to come down, like any good high it just dissipates like smoke and she feels fine after. Awake after a dream she can barely remember since she forgot to write it down in the immediate aftermath.

* * *

She gets dressed and ignores how the feeling of shame comes to keep her company. Masturbating is a locked door activity and she forgot to lock the door.

Standing with bare feet on the little white tiles she knocks on the connecting door. It isn't locked and there's no answer except the shuffling of sheets and a solitary creaking of metal mattress springs as Madison moves to turn over.

Zoe knows an unlocked door to Madison, when she's in the state she is now, is as much an invitation to come in as voiced assent would be.

She goes in, it's like walking into a tunnel, "Madison?"

"…"

"Madison?"

The sheets and pillows and shape of Madison mumble, "…go away."

Zoe slumps and twists, her shoulders on the bed frame make it creak, "One of them was dead already. The other one is too, now." She looks up into the shadows on the ceiling.

"…"

"He's dead. They're all dead."

"…"

"I want you to know something else too, Madison. No one hurts us. Any of us. If they do, we kill them."

"…"

"You, me, Nan, Queenie."

She sits without an answer for a long time, feeling sleepy. Madison moves and the sheets pull away to unmuffle her mouth, "What about Cordelia?"

"Her and Fiona can handle their own shit just fine, we need to worry about us. Understand?"

"Yeah."

"Good."

She doesn't feel sleepy anymore, just tired. Somewhere inside she's so fucking tired. Drained of anything human.

"Don't leave yet."

Madison offers her bed space and Zoe slides in against her back.

"Did I wake you?"

"No, I can't sleep. It hurts. It hurts so bad. I fucking pissed blood before, and I just…god. What the fuck? How could they fucking do that to me? What makes it okay?"

Zoe doesn't know, it isn't okay but the 'why is it done' is just a question that's a plague molding your brain if you think about it too long.

Because people don't care, not about other people. Animals are like that, they send off chicks and cubs and kits and fawns and pups without caring what happens to what they've bred, there's no attachment.

Humans are only attached because the babies they have can't get up and walk and communicate and eat on their own for a long time. It's a biological draw back; malformed and underdeveloped offspring, comparative to everything else in the animal kingdom, the trade-off that came with bipedal locomotion and the adaption of the human pelvis and spine to a smaller more supportive shape.

So says modern science.

People who don't care aren't anomalies, they're normal. When people don't care they can't empathize or sympathize and without the emotional restraints _need_ and _want_ take precedence.

Law and order are negligible. Compassion, justice, and mercy mean nothing to animals.

Some people are animals and some people are shackled by the things that they've made up so you can tell the difference.

Her and Madison and all the rest are Retribution. Vengeance. Revenge. The top of the fucking food-chain and they have the luxury of being able to pick and choose.

They are Achilles, lounging in a tent while a war goes on with the unbelievable gall to say no to a king because they are divine, they are powerful, they are above all others, loping like a wolf through carcasses to kill the hero Hector because they've gotten bored, because they can, because the world is only real elegance and promise for them while it remains a mire of shit and rot for everyone else.

She doesn't tell Madison what she thinks, it will come off as an audition monologue, too wordy for real life with no room for personal interpretation or a denial. Zoe sighs and presses her face to the back of Madison's bare shoulder, "They're all dead."

It sends a thrill through her to say it out loud to another person, to the only person who will understand like she does. Madison made a choice too.

"Dead," she repeats, to herself this time.

"That's not good enough. If I could I'd bring them back and make them slaves."

"We can try."

In the dim luminescence of the room that night from the clouds outside moving away from a pretty picture of a moon Madison looks at her with something like awe and smug gratification. A promise of retribution on its most awful scale ties a fated red string around their fingers. They're sisters now.

They're allies and this time it's not just because she's the only one left at the table to choose.

* * *

Madison suggests that she ask Fiona about any loopholes the catastrophe that is her cunt provides.

Fiona's answers are delivered with as much malignant attention and distraction any conversation with her would bring.

She'd discuss the draperies or the china the same way, classify it, disdain it, find the whole thing monotonous because that's what people who are obsessed with something do, they can't give themselves or enjoy anything other than working toward what it is they want.

Zoe wants a life that's hers, every conversation and every interaction gives something or takes something else away. It's like this that she slowly puzzles together the who, what, when, where, how and why of her life together in some new picturesque landscape that doesn't feel quite real.

"Control, takes practice and the practice for you is exceedingly difficult, distasteful too. Maybe not, some girls are obvious little sluts these days."

"So what does it take to kill someone?"

"You could kill someone with a kiss, if you learned how."

"What if I wanted to _not_ kill the person I was with?"

"The overt does it, the subtle you have to learn. A touch, a kiss. That's hard. A suck, a fuck, not so hard. Like any person without your gifts, any slut with a gag reflex and something warm between her legs can make a man come, but to do that with your fingertips or your mouth on theirs, takes skill. It's the difference between being a whore and being a courtesan. "

"Does it only work on men?"

"Anyone who isn't something else. A witch or someone who knows how to prevent your gifts from emerging. My daughter would tell you it's like a contagious disease, someone not inoculated and exposed will die but with the right medicine or some genetic superiority all the exposure you have it in you to give won't do a lick of good."

"You must know how to control it, since you had a kid. Right?"

"Slit a man's throat while he's in you and he might still climax, you may lose focus even after you've learned, there is so much more to it than flipping a switch. People lie to themselves about all sorts of things, loving someone and hating someone is not always clear. You may love someone but you may always feel something in you that wants to hurt them, magic doesn't compromise with what you feel more and go with that."

* * *

Madison still tries to goad her into an argument with the reaffirmation that they should have chosen the biggest dick of the bunch once she's finished her observation of their nude male monster mash-up.

Zoe sees the dark violent look flash like real Frankenstein lighting over Kyle's voiceless mouth, like watching a worm squirm.

"Come on," Madison coos. "Come on, she likes to watch."

Kyle keeps stepping back and circling around towards her instead of Madison. An expression of denial and desire. It's like they're dancing, Madison stays still and Zoe orbits close to Madison while their monster revolves only around her.

It gets trite and tiring and she yells, "I can't _be_ with anyone."

He goes as static as Madison behind her is.

Inside she's solid, stony. She wants to apologize to him, but she doesn't because she didn't do anything, sometimes shit just happens, chaos doesn't fall to order every time you force it too, chaos is fluid and escapes the solid confines of everything they'd like to enclose it in. She's solid but the chaos is already leaking out.

She apologizes anyway, because it's polite, because it's what human beings are conditioned to do.

He makes a sound that's an attempt at speech he hasn't mastered yet. Then, he looks at Madison behind her, shifts his stare again. Like he's been caught. He has, but neither of them mind. That's why they're here, together. With him.

"Just…you can want to, that's okay. Just do it. I like seeing it."

She moves forward a step and turns to move around Madison, press her back to a wall, be obscure in the shadows so it's easier to forget she's going to watch, so they can be at ease.

"Hey!" Madison chirps, surprised. "It's fine." She reels her back in, snaring her wrist, "Stay. Right here."

Zoe has missed someone being concerned about her.

"Okay?"

She doesn't really know if it is but Madison kisses her instead of waiting for an answer, nothing wet with tongue and nothing hot with hunger, but soft like affection, promises, ardor.

"Okay…?"

"…"

Finally she nods. Kyle is watching, head snapping back, caught again, but turning back quick because his impulse control is less refined now.

Zoe finds that she enjoys that, being watched like she's prey with the promise that it's still her with all the power.

Madison looks at the boy they've brought back, "Right?"

He groans, in begrudging assent.

Madison laughs behind her. A hand wraps around her waist and Madison's chin props itself on her shoulder, Zoe sees her smile in profile before Madison's hand slips up to palm her breast.

"Too bad, now you'll just have to wait."

Whether it's because of what they've done to him or if his own impulse control has been marred permanently and prematurely by death and knowing he can only have what they give him, he gives off a throaty croak and comes forward.

Her mouth opens on an exhaling gasp from Madison sucking on her neck and the way he's looking at her, it must help him make a decision, cuts the thread of self-control he's clings to as the only thing that makes him a human being anymore.

Her shirt rips open with a hard tug from him and its Madison's hands pulling down her bra, his tongue moving her nipple around and it's her own fingers in his hair once he's dropped to his knees.

He pulls hard at her thighs until her jeans all but shave the skin from her hipbones and slacken down to her knees, he mouths at her mound and Madison's fingers spider over her breasts like she's playing piano across her nerve endings.

His tongue is all over the sodden crotch of her underwear, she worries that the elastic might rub his taste buds raw, it doesn't matter, the cotton shreds and the elastic snaps, holding its shape.

He loses himself under all that monster and forgets about what she could do without any intention of doing, she almost buckles when he pulls apart her knees and noses up, ready and willing to wriggle his tongue up around inside of her.

The fingers in his hair, trying to tug his head back are for his benefit but, like a lot of things, simple things like speech or looks or touches, pain doesn't always register as a stop order.

She squeaks out a word she doesn't want to say and Madison says it louder, Kyle is across the room and dazed.

Zoe buckles and Madison lets her use her legs as a chair.

Kyle stumbles to a stand and Madison asks him if he's going to behave himself. He grunts and nods and Madison starts to strip.

* * *

Zoe knows that the equality between them can't last, it's natural that it won't. They both know that. As long as it lasts they'll enjoy it. Zoe likes the smoky smell of Madison's sheets and Madison likes the bareness of what she'll call Zoe's convent cell.

Together they are slim and sweaty and pretty perfection.

'The sun, the Sabbath, sex'

Madison's favorite book is _Ada_. Makes sense since the girl thrives on melodrama.

She also like the semblance of control, Zoe relishes just letting her do whatever since it's the only time she doesn't have to actively regulate whether her body steals someone's soul or not.

Madison has a Hermes scarf that she_ lets_ Zoe wear over her eyes.

"Do you want something inside?"

"Like what?"

"I have…a thing…"

"A thing?"

"A dildo, okay? It' clean, I'm not retarded."

"What color is it?"

"Shut up, slut. Do you want it in you or what?"

"Does it do stuff?"

"Yeah."

"Put it in."

And then, after twenty minutes of it buzzing on her clit, the swollenness of her cunt, Madison does finally fuck her with it.

Her fingers move like sleepy cat paws over her head and her toes fan out, abdomen clenched so taut she's starting to shake while her hips jerk, an ornament on the end of sewing thread, ready to snap, snap, snap, her shoulders pop and she sighs.

Madison does too, and Zoe rubs the edge of her blinding designer accessory against her arm until her sight is restored. Outside of her body the little toy kicks off between her legs, it spasms against her and she squeaks lightly each time.

She rolls hard and catches Madison on her back. Straddling her haughty little companion she undoes the knots at her own wrist with her teeth.

Her hair sways and she can see wetness that's hers on Madison's tight stomach when she moves.

There's something about undressing a girl, Zoe doesn't know what it is.

Maybe the way it's you can tell how turned on they are by how much of a sponge their panties have turned into. She's never had any inclination to lick a girl before but she decides she wants to, Madison huffs at her and tells her that she wants to be fucked.

Madison kisses her following the soft taunt of a lick to her heavy breathing mouth. A leg, that could be her own if she could watch what they were doing outside of her body, rises up to lie up on her hip, a small foot with painted toenails pressing and stroking the back of her calf.

They both watch each other's face when Zoe pushes the outrageously pink and girlish substitute for a guy, any guy, that neither of them has the stomach to be with, inside.

Madison sounds off with an unsteady and loud inhale, the toy's buzzing becoming less insistent the more she pushes it inside.

There's the completely unique suck and squelch sound of sex between both of their legs, she's burning again, everything is cigarette, lilac, and salt scented. New Orleans, magic, heat, and best friends.

The toy has some stupid name, Cherry Popper, or something equally silly.

Neither of them has one left, she tells Madison about Charlie and Madison tells her about some lackluster experience in a hotel room with one of her TV sitcom cast-mates.

Madison bites her nails and it keeps the worry of getting scratched from them inside of her from coming up, she has to change the rhythm she's using to get Madison off to fit her thrust forward.

She comes, Madison comes, they fall asleep after a postcoital cigarette and near obligatory tears having everything to do over boys; dead boys, the bad and the good. They'll always fail the Bechdel test late at night.

They're friends and sisters and comrades but they aren't lovers, they fool around and touch, fuck, kiss, lick because it's closeness and reaffirmation of strength, they need to do something, the sex takes every last bit of energy to do something worse out of them.

Lying sated and damp skinned next to each other like naked kids after sprinkler water games of tag helps them not think.

* * *

They don't get caught up in titles.

Zoe's litany is a reminder of all she can do.

Madison's mantra is how much she can do.

A supreme isn't all powerful, the realized potential only goes as far as their life lasts and Zoe hasn't decided how long she really intends to live.

They go out. Madison will find a boy.

Zoe will lead the way and Madison will tell him "Come on, she likes to watch."

* * *

**A/N:** This is my first fic to really do girl love right. Trust me I will be writing Zoe/Kyle centric stuff as well as Zoe/Madison stuff. It's nice to have more than one pairing that I want to write for once.


End file.
